In Peace, Rest Easy
by Humbuggy
Summary: Therein lay the root of it; he was build for war, emerged out of the skin with muscle bound arms and feet to crush the bones of enemies. And yet- and yet, he alone seemed to have no taste for the blood of it. ( He was an anomaly in the machine.) Lord of The Rings Freeform.


So… I once had an idea about Lord of the Rings, where I thought what would happen if there was a fighting Uruk-hai who was really ill at ease with who they were supposed to be. Imagine a Uruk-hai, built for war and death, who wanted nothing more than to walk through meadows looking a birds and not stepping on flowers because flowers were _special_ \- but was forced to kill and to fight because that's what they had been made to do.

This is what arose. It was going to be longer and a whole heap more meta, but I lost the thread of it and eventually found an ending I'm sort of happy with.

* * *

The signal glinted, a red winking eye on the horizon, a chain of bonfires light one after the other. Agurák paused where he sat sharpening his caudal of a blade. Nearby his pack leader raised his head, grimacing features wrinkling the white hand stamped across his face. In his snarling black speech, he said;  
"The Beacon's have been lit. The race of men are calling for aid. See how they fear us."

Deep grunting laughter rose from the gathered fighting Uruk-hai at Azshakar's comment.

Agurák did not join their mirth, sliding his eyes away from his brothers. Men were like so many little mice that scurried and squeaked at threats. Was it right for the hunter to laugh at the rallying fear of prey?

A small lizard, its back gleaming a deep verdant green ran over the bare rock. The shining colour was unlike anything that was found in the fighting Uruk-hai's fiery dark birthplace of Isenguard, and he drank the sight in. It scurried towards him, and he moved his foot away so that his huge clumsy feet would not hurt the small creature. As he looked up, he caught the eye of one of the band brothers. Nashuk watched him, black beady eyes sharp with judgement. Quickly, Agurák took his already raised foot and slammed it down onto the jewel green lizard. Grunting with satisfied amusement, Nashuk looked away and continued to sharpen his sword.

Sharp bile scorched Agurák's throat as he moved his foot away and saw the small smear of blood, bone, and scale. Next to him, Gorakahan leaned over to speak.

"You care too much for the life of tiny beings. You are fighting Uruk-hai. Built for war. You bear the white hand of Saruman." Gorakahan grunted and slapped Agurák heavily on the shoulder. "You are only six weeks out of skin. You will find your iron."

Therein lay the root of it; he was build for war, emerged out of the skin with muscle bound arms and feet to crush the bones of enemies. He was one in the line of the numberless, his name self-chosen - an attempt to create some sort of identity. Half of the names belonging to his fellow uruk had been privately dubbed onto them by Agurák himself. Nashuk was one such member. The beast in question had not chosen a name himself, or if he had, Aguarák did not know of it.

Their band's leader had been given his name by Saruman, and he bore it with warlike pride. Gorakahan on the other hand, had taken his name off another after a duel that ended in death. He was one of the oldest of the band, Agurák preferred him to the others due to his more developed personality. Blood was not the only thing on his mind. Yet like all Uruk-hai, Gorakahan revelled in blood and bone. It seemed that Agurák alone had no taste for war.

Agurák scowled and moved to sharpen his caudal again.

The rank smell of fight musk rose from where Nashuk was in an increasingly violent argument with another. Brutish faces snarled at each other as the Uruk-hai bristled and shoved at the new amusement. It finally ended when Azshakar snarled "Enough!" as he smashed the two Uruk's heads together with brute strength.

"What are we still doing here? We have been waiting for hours. And I am hungry. I want flesh, man flesh." Nashuk shook his head heavily, trying to still its ringing.

Azshakar snarled at the troublesome uruk. "We are waiting for the warg riders. Then will we feast. Or do you say that we should disobey my orders and fight now?"

Nashuk growled deeply in return as the two bristled at each other, the surrounding Uruk-hai watching the fight intently.

Then, "No. I will wait. But we are hungry and will not be content for long."

Flash fast, Azshakar belted Nashuk over with a powerful backhand.

"You will get your meat." He snarled. "But until then, silence your yapping mouth or I will remove your head."

Agurák winced internally as, fight over, the Uruks went back to their blades. He was hungry yes, but man-flesh was no tempting prospect. _He_ would not want anything eating on his flesh. How was it right that a man, capable of understanding his own demise and fate, be eaten? Such a thing was different when it was a speechless, thoughtless animal. Perhaps the flesh may not taste as sweet, but it sat better in his stomach with the knowledge that there was no family to mourn the loss.

The thundering of heavy paws made all the Uruk-hai throw their heads up. A huge warg came bounding over rise of the hills; the rider crouched over its neck beating it viciously with a flail. The warg came to a skidding stop, flanks heaving violently, blocky muzzle foaming with saliva. The rider bowed subserviently to the looming Azshakar bunching his tightly crossed arms in aggression.

"They are a hours ride out, and unaware." The warg rider announced to the ground.

"Good. Drive them to us and we shall fall upon them, rend their flesh from their bones and taste their weak and wailing blood."

The laughter of the Uruk-hai was a deep barbed chuffing in the throat, rising to an ugly barking that set the skin crawling up Agurák's spine.

"Go!" Ordered Azshakar, cuffing the cringing warg-rider when they did not move fast enough. "Tell your brothers that we come."

Scurrying away, the rider mounted the warg, turning its head viciously and whipping it to a fast clip.

Quickly the troupe clambered to their feet, eagerly forming into a rough formation as Azshakar snarled at them, he too obviously intent on the hunt.

Agurák found his place towards the end of the chain; he was not the last, for Gorakahan took that position, impatiently pushing the one ahead of him into a run.

"If you are lucky," He grinned, "not all will be dead before we are there."

Agurák let his feet fall into the mindless pounding run, allowing his mind to wander in a soft, moss green distance. If only the men fled before they got there, run to far safe places. A futile hope for the inevitable battle and his own potential death. But as he had thought before, death would not be so bad so long as his bones could grow to lay under the sun. So long as butter yellow flowers could grow from his manufactured finger bones and bright green lizards could scuttle over his ribs from where his wrong heart used to beat.

_fin._


End file.
